I Never Meant to Love You
by Yaminoko-Jeichan
Summary: CyndiaPegasus story that takes place in Cyndia’s point of view and explains what she felt about Pegasus and her life.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Don't own show (if I did, I wouldn't be writing merely fanfics.)_

_Summary: Cyndia/Pegasus story that takes place in Cyndia's point of view and explains what she felt about Pegasus and her life. (Since there's not much information on Cyndia I can use much of my own ideas for her life. Yay! There's very little to go by for her character as well, oh well.)_

Story Title: I Never Meant to Love You

Chapter title: Beginnings

Cyndia's POV:

Since my youth, though my guardians never approved the idea, I wanted to join a convent—a thought I've never shared with anyone outside of my immediate family. Nor did my immediate family gossip about it with strangers—they swept my desire under the rug, hiding it away as a family secret, even from family.

Though they never praised my idea, and even scorned it occasionally, my family was religious—we attended church every Sunday, had meatless Fridays, and celebrated every catholic holiday by attending mass and refraining from work. Each holiday was like Sunday—except that at night on a holiday my parents cooked festive meals and invited every member of the extended family to supper, when on Sundays we ate our meals in company of only the nuclear family.

Each holiday supper was the same with slight differences each year—every relative brought a different dish each time—and though each supper had the same dishes, each tasted different when cooked by different family members. Roast chicken flavored with different spices depending on who made it, mashed or baked potatoes with butter or sour cream or gravy to flavor it—homemade due to family custom. One year my parents decided to spice things up and add a theme to the meal, and thus every dish was Cajun that Christmas.

I miss those days, miss them as much as I hate the days after my parents died. Not that they died on the same day; no, my father died first—on my eighth birthday; a car crash took him from this world and into the next. I remember waiting anxiously at the living room window for his truck to pull in the drive, but instead of his dark red ford pulling up to the house, a black and white police car drove in.

_No_, my heart cried when the officer knocked on the door and entered the house, decorated for my birthday—blue balloons and streamers stuck to or hanging from the walls, and a large home-baked birthday cake, chocolate topped with blue and white frosting sat on the dining room table.

"Mrs. Morris?" The police officer asked looking from each woman until my mother stepped forward, sickly pale. "Mrs. Morris, I'm sorry to bring such bad news on such a festive occasion, but your husband, Mr. Gregory Morris has been in an accident."

I didn't wait around to hear the rest, but ran from my mother's legs up the stairs to my room and flung myself on my bed—screaming in my thoughts—_no, no, no!_ My father had only gone to the store to buy the ice cream he forgot, he couldn't have gotten into an accident on the short drive to the supermarket. He couldn't!

I don't remember how long I lied there on bed crying tears I didn't know I was crying until I felt the dampness of the feather pillow below my head. All I remember was my mother sitting down on my bed hours later, placing her hand on my head, her fingers tangled in my blonde hair.

"Cyndia, darling, I know it's hard but…." She faltered, choking on the sobs in her throat and moved her hand from my hair.

I remember turning my head so that I saw her face, her pale cheeks were wet with tears and her blue eyes were bloodshot from crying.

"Momma…." I flung myself at her and wrapped my trembling arms around her thin, fragile form, crying harder when she wrapped her own arms around me. We stood up the whole night holding each other as though life depended on it.

Thus, what should've been one of the best days of my life, turned out to be one of the worst. Around this time was when I told her my desire to become a nun, she only smiled sadly and said that I'd miss the wonders of marriage and motherhood if I joined a convent.

Only a year after my father's funeral, my mother remarried—into money. Her new husband looked nothing like daddy, who had black hair and bright blue eyes that gleamed every time his thin lips smiled; my stepfather had strawberry blond hair and green, almond shaped eyes, and he hardly ever smiled.

Ten years my mother's senior, he hailed from Georgia, but had temporary relocated to western New York to invest in new businesses. His family's wealth stretched back to before the Civil War when they owned a huge cotton plantation with thousands of slaves to work tens of thousands of acres. So he said. Me, I couldn't believe that a Georgia aristocrat picked my widowed mother, a middle class woman with a young child to care for, as his wife. However, I also couldn't believe my mother had remarried only a year after my father's funeral.

After the wedding (I grudgingly was the flower girl) my mother's last name changed to Stanton, and, against my wishes, so did mine when my stepfather completed the paperwork for legal adoption. I refer to those days with distaste, not that they were in anyway horrid, because I still missed my father dearly, and couldn't understand why my mother remarried so soon.

She claimed to have loved, and still love; my father but she married Ollivander Stanton, Georgia aristocrat and businessman, a week after the first year anniversary of my father's funeral.

I hated her then, resented her cheeriness when she should've been grieving. I even told her I hated her and what she had done—that she dishonored my father's memory by remarrying so soon.

Her only response was:

"Cyndia, I'm sorry you feel terrible, but this is the way it has to be. You'll understand the reason soon enough."

"No, I'll never understand." I narrowed my eyes and looked away. "I hate you."

"Cyndia…."

I ran to my room before she could respond, and refused to recant or speak to her in anyway for an entire week, and I never got a chance again to tell her I loved her as much as I loved and still loved, daddy.

She died on the eighth morning after I told her I hated her.

So silent and delicate she seemed lying in the coffin, wearing the white wedding dress she wore at her second wedding (I had insisted that she get a new one instead of use the same one she'd married daddy in) with a red envelop placed beneath her folded hands.

That letter was addressed to me, she had held it to her breast the day she died, and I refused to read it even though my stepfather begged me to. I didn't need a letter to know the truth, or anyone to say the words—I knew what was written in that letter because I knew it in my heart.

My mother had always been sickly, and made no pretense that she had a long life to live. She even told me once that she'd probably die before daddy, who had been seven years older than her; she guessed wrong about that, but only be a year and nine days.

Thus, I realized why she remarried so soon—she knew her death was near, knew that she wouldn't be there for me much longer, and she had risked my disapproval to make sure my life was set. Momma remarried only to give me a future; not for love of her new husband, but out of her love for me she cast aside her own grief to secure my foundation.

And I had told her I hated her; she sacrificed feeling my love for her in order for me to have a life, and I had estranged myself from her during her final hours.

I wish I understand sooner, but my selfish grief blinded me to the truth—a truth proved through the actions of my stepfather.

Three months after my mother's death, a hundred and six days after their wedding, my stepfather remarried, and moved us to Las Vegas, Nevada where we began a new life as a family related only by law.

However, only my stepfather and I knew of my past, not even his new wife knew that I was an orphan—she thought I was my stepfather's real daughter from his prior marriage. No one but my stepfather, the lawyer who handled the adoption, and I knew of my true parentage.

Everyone accepted me for who they thought I was, Cyndia Stanton, daughter of Ollivander Stanton, businessman and Georgia aristocrat. With my blonde hair and blue eyes, I easily passed as Ollivander's true daughter—he had blond hair, pictures of my mother showed that she had blue eyes and blonde hair herself, so everyone believed I got my blue eyes from momma and my blond hair from both.

For a year, I played along without feeling, without caring about anything—I merely went through the motions of living, pretending to be happy when I froze my emotions so I wouldn't be hurt. Quickly I learned how to act like a lady, mastering etiquette and posture within weeks, and losing all of my tomboyish habits.

The days flew by like a blur until one night my stepfather received an invitation to a party from a well-known, wealthy casino owner—Mr. Crawford. My stepparents and I went to the celebration dressed in new clothes brought for just the occasion—my dress, custom made, was sky blue like my mother's eyes and made of the softest fabric.

As always, I played the part of a lady exceptionally well, though I didn't wish to mingle long—I preferred the solitude of my set of rooms in my stepfather's mansion with my books, or the quiet of tending to the rose bushes growing in the vast gardens surrounding the mansion.

Anyway, I mingled little with the other guests, and stayed mostly behind my stepfather, hoping no one would notice me. My stepfather, who knew I was behind him, was kind enough not to introduce me to each guest he spoke with. However, once he saw the host he beckoned me to walk by his side up to Mr. Crawford, and then he introduced me before I could object.

"Ah, Mr. Crawford, my complements on throwing such a magnificent affair."

Mr. Crawford nodded his head slightly in response, and held out his hand.

"Mr. Stanton, it's delightful that you made it seeing how busy you've been."

"Yes, business has been booming, but my wife convinced me that more time must be spent at social events, to get our daughter used to the limelight." My stepfather took Mr. Crawford's hand and shook it firmly, then nudged me forward. "Mr. Crawford, this is my daughter, Cyndia."

"She's lovely." Mr. Crawford smiled and then motioned for a boy around my height to come over. Briskly the boy walked over, his white blond hair swaying slightly from the movement. "I'd like you to meet my son, Pegasus. Pegasus, this is Mr. Stanton and his daughter Cyndia."

The boy named Pegasus smiled warmly at me, not at all shy, I guess he was used to meeting new people and so didn't shy away from the limelight.

"Hello, Cyndia." Pegasus grinned and took my hand in his, his white-blond hair falling halfway down his pale neck.

"Hi."


	2. Chapter 2

Numerous times I wondered what life for me would've been had my mother not left my in the hands of Ollivander Stanton; if she hadn't remarried the child protective services would've placed me in foster care when she died and I'd never have known the glamoruous life I lived as a Stanton. Whenever I think of it, I can't help but cry, remembering how mean I was to her--I was so young and foolish I couldn't recognize her pain.

For much of my teenage years, whenever I was alone, I sulked into depressions, wondering what might have been and thinking myself the only one with such an experinence: the only one whose mother had hurt her and risked being hated in order to provide a better life for her daugther. I hated and loved her both at once, and couldn't share my thoughts with anyone--to do so truthfully would destroy the elaborate hoax of my present life.

Pain from the loneliness stifled any true pleasure I felt during those early teenage years--until I happened across a music video that seemed symbolic of my life. Though different in most details, it bore the image of a mother hurting her daughter to assure her the chance of a better life, and that enthralled me--there were people who at least thought ideas silmilar to my reality. And it proved I wasn't alone.

Not that I was physically alone much during my teenage years--everyday after meeting him, I hung out with Pegasus, the son of a casino owner. He loved talking by the lake on my stepfather's land, and his amber brown eyes always gleamed with excitement; those eyes radiated excitement that brightened my heart from a single look whenever I was with him. He was the only thing I liked about my new life, my only friend, and whenever I was with him I forgot the anguish buried deep inside my heart. His smile brightened up everyday, dispelling the shield around my feelings a little each time--though he never realized what interest I showed in those early years was false. By the time he would've been able to tell, I no longer showed fake interest, but genuine pleasure.

Pleasure--I enjoyed my life when I was with him, and I almost forgot myself enough to fall in love with him. Almost. Though we often talked of marriage, his devotion I could tell ran deep and true, I didn't let myself love him--I almost did, and it hurt to do so. On my fifteenth birthday the pain intensified--no, it had gradually built up 'til I couldn't ignore it anymore--as I spent the day with him, waiting until everything was ready for my party.

"Cyndia," Pegasus' voice was soft and kind, his expression forever childish though he grew more physically mature each day. "I was thinking about taking a trip this summer, to New York to visit the Niagara Falls, and, seeing as you lived here your whole life, I thought I'd invite you." He grabbed hold of my hand in his, his skin smooth as mine. "That is if your father allows it." He blushed and looked away, chuckling nervously under his breath--lately my stepfather had started being more protective of me with Pegasus around. I knew it was because I and Pegasus were teenagers, and my stepfather feared we might experiment like teenage couples.

"I doubt he'll allow it. But it would be nice to see the Falls a--" I stop before I could say 'again', remembering just in time that Pegasus didn't know I came from Western New York and had already seen the Falls. For a moment we both were silent, him wistfully hoping I could join him on his trip, and I struggling with the heaviness growing within. My mind screamed at me to tell him the truth, while my heart, it pulled away from him, fearing he wouldn't like me if he knew the truth. I hadn't been born into high society, I wasn't born a part of his world, and I felt terrified that he might find out.

He trusted me so completely, and I didn't want to betray his trust.

I never felt lonelier than at that moment.

"Hey, they should be ready by now. So let's head back, that is...unless you want to stay here for a while longer." Pegasus pulled up a few blades of grass and rubbed over them with his fingers, slightly blushing.

"Pegasus, what...why are you nervous?" I turned toward him, my eyes trying to catch his, for some reason he kept flicking his eyes away. "What's..."

"You've gotten very beautiful over the summer, Cyndia." He managed, finally bringing his gaze to rest on mine, but his eyes strayed from my face, downward.

Knowing full well where he was looking, I had developed quite a bit over the summer, I paused before saying naively "What are you looking at, Pegasus?"

His response was immediate; Face completely red, he stood, apologizing over and over for his rudeness, struggling to remain the gentleman when he was just a normal teenaged boy. I felt like chuckling at him--I was a few months older than him so he always tried to act more mature to make up for it, though I doubt he'd ever lose that childlike hopefulness that burst loose everytime we talked about the future.

"Are you two lovebirds going to stay out here all night? Everyone's ready." A voice startled us both, me especially since there was something strangely familiar about it.

"Oh, we were just about to head back." Pegasus held his head high, hiding his surprize as he looked over the person who'd interrupted us.

Chestnut brown hair and suntaned skin, our interrupter bit his lip to hold back a laugh as he studied Pegasus' effort to appear older and in control. This got a look of disdain from Pegasus, who narrowed his eyes and took in the newbie's appearance, an arrogant smile playing at his lips.

"What we have here? A new servant, perhaps? Honestly I didn't think anyone around here would hire such an a---" Pegasus stopped the moment he remembered I was still there, his face turning a red deeper than before. "Ah, um Cyndia why don't we go back to the mansion now? It's getting uncomfortable in this heat, and the shade's not helping." He ushered me quickly away, hurrying away from the brown haired man.

"Who was that, Pegasus?" I asked when we turned around the bushes that led to home.

"No one, let's just go to the party."

"But he's not a servant, he must be one of the guests. You acted like you knew him."

"Me? Know him? I don't, what gave you that idea?"

"Pegasus, you never use that kind of language even with the servants. Especially in front of me."

"I...I'm sorry about that, it wasn't gentlemanly for me to even think of using language like that, I..."

"Ah Pegsi, you should stop trying to act grownup all the time--you don't have to put on a show to impress me." I wrapped my arm around his and leaned on his shoulder, my heart thumping from how familiar the brown haired man had looked to me--he reminded me of someone I knew in New York.

"Cyn-di-a, I'll try to limit my grownup behavior, okay?" He grinned and placed his free hand on my arm, his brown eyes gleaming with happiness.

"So..."

"So what?"

"So, who was that who interrupted us?"

"What? I, oh, um...he..." He looked away a blush forming on his neck. "You remember when I told you I had an older half-brother, right?"

"Yes, I believe I saw him once, at one of your family's parties." I leaned closer to him, remembering the day I learned of his half-brother Lloyd. His half brother had the same colored hair as him, but blue eyes and slightly darker skin. Plus he walked with a stronger sureness of himself than Pegasus could muster through effort alone. I'd only seen him from afar, and had to press Pegasus then to tell me who he was after the party.

"Yes, well, that man is my brother's...uh, um. Well, um...he's my brother's..." Pegasus turned redder, fumbling over his words and avoiding my eye. "Let's just say he's more than just a friend to my brother."

"He's your brother's--oh." I blushed, realizing what he meant, and walked with him in silence to the mansion.

-


End file.
